The Aftertaste
by hunger-games-real
Summary: Katniss is returning home to District Twelve after the war. What will she expect? Will she ever see Peeta again? This chapter explains Katniss's mental struggle as she comes home.
1. Chapter 1

I stare out the window watching the colors flash by.

How Prim would love the tranquil animals that graze the soft pastures with ease. How she'd love to relax in the open air and play with Buttercup, to stroke the miserable cat's fur in the sunlight. My vision begins to blur when I realize I'm crying and frustrated I avert my eyes from the scenery. After a few minutes, my heartbeat begins to throb in my throat and I have to press my head between my knees to subside my shaking and even my breaths.

It takes all that's in me to not think about Peeta. He hovers my thoughts constantly, like he's the air I breath except he's gone and has left me to choke, struggling for his touch and gasping for him to come back.

I'm hyperventilating now, striking the attention of an anxious attendant who I quickly waver off with a halfhearted wave.

Breath, I command myself, my fingers pushing stray strands of my hair behind my ears. My chest is rising and falling in staggered motions when I notice him slumped in front of me.

The last time I saw Haymitch, he was in Thirteen, skin yellowed and hollowed eyes. He looks healthier now, his cheeks more profound and his eyes a deeper shade of grey.

I wipe away my tears, ashamed for him to witness how vulnerable I am. But Haymitch and I are not ones for secrets.

He extends his arms quietly and I fold myself into them.

Haymitch is patient. He let's me sob against his chest as he awkwardly pats my back. There are no words for the pain that anguishes me and no one could ever relate. Except for Haymitch.

"You don't deserve this," Haymitch says gently, breaking my tears.

I look up at him bewildered. I did deserve my grief though. I had started the rebellion. I had become the Mockingjay. I had pulled out those berries. It was my fault Prim was dead and Peeta was hijacked. That Peeta might never be the same again. That he might never come back.

Before I can protest his words, he silences me with a flick of his hand. "Don't fight me here sweetheart. The result, it wasn't your fault. You can't alter the future only change the present. You can't expect to control the ripple effect of the outcome so stop blaming yourself for the ashes." My nose shrivels at this but he continues. "It's a metaphor sweetheart," he explains pointedly. "Be proud of the sparks you've set ablaze."

His words silence my voice and I am taken aback.

Has he offended or complimented me?

Possibly he meant to comfort me and to coax me into believing my leadership in the rebellion should be appreciated. And yet, I don't believe he'd take me so shallow.

I fumble with questions in my mouth yet I can't push down a reoccurring thought. I collapse against the back of my seat, letting my body sink into the soft cushion. It mimics the way I feel. Spineless.

Haymitch watches me guarded as if the slightest movement could deteriorate my fragile state. His cautions are useless though; you can't break something's that's already broken.


	2. Chapter 2

My feet crunch against the cold gravel, my heals digging into my tight shoes.

The air's bitter as it bites my cheeks, the wind making the trees dance. The train pulled in as the sun disappeared, the lights already fading behind the Meadow's extremity. There's practically nothing left in the charred fields, the colors drained of its sweet health leaving the dirt to cultivate the decomposing bodies.

Already workers bear down on the emaciated earth, extracting the propriety of so many souls that only remain memories now and laboring the soils until they become motile.

I trudge along the road, keeping my eyes leveled so that I can avoid witnessing the gruesome ground without colliding on something unforgettable. Or _someone_.

My direction is undefined but I discover my path leads to Victor Village.

I've scaled the marble steps of my former home, the structure still perfectly intact and the stones consumed with impeccable elegance when I hesitate. My temple rests against the smooth, oak door, my fingers laced into the handle but I cannot bear to press it open.

I take a deep breath, pushing Prim away, biting my lips when they begin to tremble. I know she'll be there; every memory I've avoided for the past month will swarm my existence. The wind picks up and slams into my coat, snaking down my back. I dig my nails into my palm and shove the door open on its hinges that barely make a sound.

I'm leaning against the door as if I were preventing anything to enter. For a while, I remain there, positioned in the entry feeling numb while I listen to my heartbeats race. Staring at the stool where Prim would giggle. Watching the lifeless hearth angled towards the rocking chairs where Haymitch and Peeta would concentrate a game of chess. Fixed on the kitchen where my mother would create concoctions and remedies, a few in which rehabilitated Gale.

It seems everywhere I go, I discover gems that were once mine. Now they've turned to coal, scorched and blackened then gone.

I can't stay here.

I crawl to my feet and start darting around the still house, rummaging though the rooms until I have retrieved and collected what little I have left of them. Thirteen was gracious enough to neatly stack my few belongings on my bed. I quickly shrug on my father's hunting jacket and soak in his scent that has long gone and vanished. My fingers caress the wooden frame that holds him, something my mother would repeatedly do. Then, soundlessly I drop the rest of my things in my hunting bag. It's then do I notice something small that escapes my grasp and tumbles onto the hardwood floor. I fall to my knees, my hands fumbling against the dust crowded floorboards until they settle on it.

His pearl.

I sit, curled up, my lips pressed against what little I have left of Peeta. I don't know how long I've remained there until I startle into reality at a hard rasp at the door.

Fear consumes me, my thoughts racing with possibilities but I manage to drown them out and reach the door. If this is the Peacekeepers prepared to drag me away than I shall go willingly. Perhaps they'll do me the pleasure to end my life quickly and send me into oblivion. But something nags me. _You've done nothing wrong, Katniss_ , I think. _They let you go free; they pardoned your assassination with your mental instability._

You would have to be crazy for something like this. _Had_ I slipped my sanity?

Before I can react, the door creaks open and Greasy Sae slips in. Her presence stuns me, yet she manages to lead me to the couch and coax some tea into me while she prepares my dinner.

I have so many questions rattling in my brain but when she gently sets the stew in front of me, my queries vanish.

"You haven't eaten in days," Greasy Sae remarks as I stare longingly at the plate. The angry rumbles in my stomach confirms her theory and she pushes the bowl closer to my fingers. "Eat," she commands.

I don't objet.

When I have scrapped the last drop of the lamp stew, the aroma drained from the air, I allow myself to peek out the window. The lights have faded into dullness, leaving but the wind to rustle the trees now and then. Had it really been two days since I've arrived?

My eyes are drawn back to Greasy Sae, as she scrubs the dishes with luxurious tap water. I notice how she frequently shuts the tap, on and off as if to contain the resource of water though we have an abundance. Such little flaws that distinctly reveal our true identity. We shall always be from the Seam, people like her and I. We have grown too accustom to our procedures to ever let them subside.

The water flow abruptly halts, the dishes neatly stacked on the counter. Greasy Sae meets my gaze and a weak smile pulls at her lips. "You look better," she remarks, dabbing her hands dry with my mother's dishtowel.

I don't answer.

She draws the curtains closed and quietly installs herself besides me, pulling out thin knitting needles and a tattered ball of yarn. The color has drained, the ends frayed and hanging limp. Wordlessly I crawl to my feet and search my mother's belongings until I find a basket. Silently I place it at Greasy Sae's feet and assume my curled up position.

She doesn't say anything. She just delicately handles the yarn until finally I speak. "Take them," I insist. "I don't even knit."

Her eyes come up moist, an emotion I had never seen displayed in the old woman. "Your kindness will never cease to amaze me. You've done so much yet you don't understand."

I shake my head, tired of hearing the same stories in which I am a hero. I killed innocence. Blood stains my hands, a kind that will never vanish.

"My son died," she whispers. "He was always so brave, so kind. But I couldn't have asked for anything more. He died a hero; he fought for what he believed in."

I stare at her astonished. I had always envisioned Greasy Sae motherless, just a lone woman supporting herself. Someone who'd I become.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, gazing blankly at my hands. Another soul appeared on my palms.

"He didn't fight for you," she argued. I look up astonished. "He fought with you. You see you both anticipated a brighter future in which your loved ones would be safe. You didn't spark the rebellion Katniss. You kindled the fire that was already ignited. You made Panem see what was worth fighting for."


	3. Chapter 3

I'm perched on the mahogany sill, my arms wound tightly around my knees that are pressed against my chest. There's a faint clicking chanting in the background but my eyes are focused out the window, my sight drawn to the darkness. At first there's a gentle flicker in the wind, barely noticeable as if the moon's glint kissed the trees. Then, the spark catches, igniting a soft glow that wavers in the wind from candle in her hand, brushing her face.

Something breaks inside of me, like an unleashed beast and my fingers are pounding on the glass as I shriek her name. She stands peacefully, fingers clutching the thin candle, oblivious of my presence. The wind twirls her hair and tugs her grey clothes as if she too were part of the trees. Her face is barely visible but I know it's her. I'm on my feet, my heart pounding in my chest, my breaths coming up short and unsteady as I race for the door. It shudders as I fumble with the latch, the bolt cold and locked.

"Prim! PRIM!" I scream, my voice screeching as my fingers dig at the door that doesn't budge. My pulse screams in my veins. She's so close, _so close._

I've stumbled off of the door, my body numb, my hand clasping the spine of a chair to steady myself. Not thinking, I grab the legs and hurl it at the window. It shatters instantly, the shards sprawling on the hardwood and cutting the air. I've all but thrown my arms up reflexedly in front of my face, as glass pierces my skin. I barely flinched, my legs taking off and out through the frame.

She's there, still as stone, glaring at the candle.

"Prim," I choke, my eyes glazing and spilling onto my cheeks. Her eyes dart up, fear overwhelmed on her face like she's prey. They settle on me, softening at first before filling with anger.

"Get out of here, Katniss," she warns curtly but there are tears on her face, moistening her lashes.

"What is it?" I whisper, my arms reaching out towards her though I'm still far. I take a step closer but she flinches making me hesitate. _What was wrong?_

Prim's fully flushed now, her face a mask of mixed emotions. "Don't come any closer," she begs, lifting one hand to stop my movement. She notices the candle in her hand, and she swallows a sob. _No_ forms on her lips but never escapes.

I'm hit with such a strong impact that I slam into the ground, my elbows barely breaking my landing. There's a fierce throb on my lower back, sending waves of nausea through my lungs. My thoughts jump to defenseless Prim too far from my grasp. I'm about the roll onto my side, and run to her aid when tough hands grab my arm and yank me to my feet. I'm struggling against their fists, kicking and screaming insults, but the hands just shake me until I'm weak and force me to look at my captor.

It's Gale.

I freeze, locked in his tight arms. "What are you doing?" I spit, eyes darting to Prim who's horrified. "Let go of me."

Gale looks at me deeply and suddenly I'm conscious as if he bore down into my brain, studying my secrets. How is he here? When did he get here? "It's just a game," he says mechanically, as if he were programmed to do so. "It's for our country. It's for Panem. I thought that's what you wanted."

"What?"

"I did it all for you," he says suddenly, his eyes a wild stormy grey. "We were meant to be together, you know? I tried so hard not to lose you. But I pushed you away instead." There's a deep sadness in his voice and I'm about to comfort him and tell him he's wrong, that I've always been broken, when he clicks back into reality as if he'd remembered his motives. "Just- just close your eyes it'll be over soon."

"No! Gale. What's going on? What's going to happen? Prim? Prim!"

I don't understand why she hasn't come to me, why she looks so petrified. She has the candle pushed away as far from her body as she can, as if it's presence were poisonous, her nose wrinkled in degusted. She raises her empty hand and presses it against the thin air as if there was glass blocking her. That's when I notice a square waver from the ground. There's a force field.

I thrust my elbow into Gale's stomach and he releases me from his grasp. I stop short of the barrier surveying the perimeter for a way to get to her.

"Prim don't worry, we'll get you out," I assure her but she's shaking her head.

"Katniss," she whispers, catching my attention as I search for a method. "Katniss I'm scared."

I don't understand what she's doing until it's too late. She drops the candle at her feet and I watch it abrupt in flames. A new kind of horror bears in my body. I've only but let out a cry as her final tears escape her eyes.

It has happened repeatedly. I watch her withdraw from my grasp every night. But tonight was different. Because tonight I wake up, drenched in sweat, entangled in blankets, yearning for her, and only feel a hanging sorrow hovering the air. Because it is then do I realize that I've lost everything. Even Gale. Even Prim who usually guides my thoughts. And as I am startled awake, in the bed Prim used to sit on, I conceive that I can't hold onto something that's gone. I must let them go. And I know where to start.


End file.
